Die For Me
by Disrupted Equilibrium
Summary: Everyone has a story. Everyone has hardships. Everyone has failure and defeats. And yet . . . there is still hope. MelloxOC
1. Prologue: Judgement Day

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Death Note

**Author's Note**: This is my very first Death Note Fan-Fiction ever. And I must admit, the title came out a bit . . . morbid, don't you think? But I must come out clean. The prologue is giving me problems, seeing that introducing characters has never been one of my fortes . . . that and the fact that my brain has going into a depressing void of writer's block. So if the beginning sounds a bit confusing to you, it should be clarified in the later chapters. Oh and I'm using both the manga and the anime as references, so there may be some places here and there that might not sound right-- I tweaked some things but a bit. As for the story, I'm making a good first portion of it take place from L's death to some time later.

But I do hope you enjoy it. :)

* * *

**Prologue**

_**December 2004**_

The fragile crystalline structures seemed endless in the ashen sky. Flurry upon flurry, each delicate snowflake floated gracefully down to rest on the earth's unforgiving grounds; they were like the soft flower petals of a cherry tree, each seemed to have a fragile beauty-- a beauty which could be ended by the smallest of breaths.

Winter.

It was an unforgiving season. It was a season of death; yet it doubled as a season of rebirth. Ice glistened, caked around the bare tree branches, making even the tallest of the wooden figures tremble in the wind. Dead leaves seemed to dance in the wind; the finale of a final Sonata. There was no cry for mercy-- God's divine judgment had already been established.

There would be no clemency beneath these clouds of gray.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck twelve. Twelve steady chimes- death plagued the air. As the last of the melancholy echoes reverberated in the afternoon air, the air was still once more.

But alas, there is no such a thing called harmony in the world; and thus, the silence was broken once again . . .

--

"What was that? Roger, what did you just say?!"

Disbelief. Pure utter disbelief plagued the teen's features as he continued to struggle to get a grasp on what exactly he had just been told. The news came to him as if he had just crashed into a brick wall.

And then the words came.

"I'm afraid . . ." the older gentleman spoke, his hand clasped, intertwined within one other-- eyes adverted straight down to the mahogany desk in which he was seated down upon, "L is dead."

In the dimly lit room, it was almost as if time had stopped; only the lone ticking of the clock marked every passing second, a reminder that the world was still moving-- a reminder that there was no changing the past.

" . . . Dead!? Bu-But how? Do you mean he was killed by Kira? Is that it!?"

"Most likely, yes,"

A fist pounded the table. "But he promised us that he'd find Kira and execute him! And know you're telling me that he's dead!?"

"M-Mello-!" the elder man began, but was interrupted by the third figure in the room. The sound of puzzle piece hit the ground like a cascade of rain; clattering the array of pieces-- in simple disarray.

Dark black pools stared up at the two figures several feet away from him. The boy seemed younger than the first, stations at the ground, holding up a puzzle board; light feather-like hair gave him a muddled look. But, as sayings go, there's more than meets the eye. "If we can't win the game-- if we can't solve the puzzle-- we're nothing more than failures," came a simple response to the news. His voice was not tinged in shock or anger as the first boy; instead, it seemed to be devoid of any emotion at all.

It was a plain comment, but it acted as if it had lit the ignition to a bomb. Several more words were spoken among the three-- though the third never really spoke; he merely replaced the pieces back to his puzzle. But the tension in the room only seemed to build until its breaking point-- there was only so much the mind could bottle up.

"Listen, Roger . . . Near will be the one to succeed L. Unlike me, he'll do the job calmly, without emotion; like how he solves a puzzle," the teen's voice trembled as he made a sharp turn for the door.

"I'm leaving from the institute too," he deadpanned, pausing in mid-step from the doorway. His actions were always rash; that was expected of him-- that was the consequences of letting emotions overpower actions.

"Mello!"

He turned to face the elder man; a fire raged on in those teal eyes, "Don't waste your breath; I'll be fifteen in no time at all."

A pause.

"It's time I started living my own life,"

Without another word, or comment, the teen slammed the door shut-- his footsteps soon echoing down the hallway, then disappearing altogether, without a trace.

--

Frigid blasts of winter air wisped her deep indigo tendrils of hair around in a frenzy. A solitary figure stared at the little flakes of snow falling from the heavens above; they seemed like a curse-- or were they a blessing?

The indigo strands wisped dangerously around her face; dancing in the oncoming gales-- escaping like a mad-man from their rightful place, tucked away behind the hood of her ashen colored coat. Her skin was chilled to the bone, but she continued to remain firm and unmoving like an ice sculpture; only the billowing of her pallid jacket seemed to ripple in the winds.

She had always liked the snow; it was delicate, yet powerful-- capable of bringing even the strongest men down to their feet. Yet now, the season seemed so distant and unfamiliar. What once was a 'winter wonderland' had now turned into something that she couldn't recognize. The snow was no longer light and fluffy-- it was now brittle and frail.

The world seemed to be withering away.

Winter.

She had so many memories of the icy season; and yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember any of them.

Deep cerulean eyes fixed upon the harsh grounds, searching, longing to pick up --even if it was a faint trace-- those long lost deep memoirs that seemed to be frozen, trapped away beneath the snow.

_"From this point on . . . you're name will be Kanon; you will no longer be known as --"_

Why couldn't she remember?

Why couldn't she remember her own name?

"Kanon . . ."

The name sounded so strange to her now; so unfamiliar, even coming out from her lips. Then again, she never had any opposition in such a codename; she merely accepted it with no complaints.

_"You were used, Kanon," a malevolent voice chuckled._

What was this? A memory?

_"You're only a mere marionette; he holds the strings. Not your father, and certainly not you."_

_That eerie laugh escaped a man's lips; his face was cascaded in darkness. _

_Why couldn't she remember the face? Why?_

_"Don't you understand? You work for _us_ now."_

_She knew not the face behind that mask, only the voice. There were so many questions left unanswered. She had been trapped like a caged bird ever since she was placed in their care. Freedom seemed to be a forbidden sin. No where to run, no where to hide; only to live to serve and obey._

Ice nipped away at her frozen cheeks; her eyes, now staring steadily towards a single card in her hand. Judgment, of the major arcana.

_A foreboding sense of amusement seemed to linger in the room as the cloaked figure simply stared and the upturned chair-- the girl, no longer in sight. She had chosen to run away to her freedom._

_'Such foolishness,' the figure mused. 'She's such a stupid girl,'_

_"Dear, dear Kanon," the voice spoke one more, the glass walls glided up to the roof, revealing a number of other members, hidden in the shadows. As the last echoes vibrated off the stone-like walls, the man smirked; his eyes glued towards the lone exit-- the plight for freedom._

_"_We_ still control the strings,"_

She was a fool to believe that nothing would have happened if she had run away from the organization. She believed that her freedom would cut all the strings that attached her to them; that she would finally be able to live.

That was bullshit. Certainly the deaths of her acquaintances were not coincidental. Each casualty occurred with meticulous precision, and the touch of death seemed to spread out like a plague. Vengeance raged through her blood. A death a day to those who she knew. It was almost as if they displayed a sole message to her.

_Run, Kanon, run as fast and hard as you'd like. But you can't hide from us forever._

She regretted many things, yet she learned to let past events be past events. Nothing would bring them back. She wanted to punish those who sinned and crush them into the ground-- burying them with their horrible deeds. Blood for blood. Life for life. She vowed that one day she'd have her vengence.

Now, the winter winds never ceased to stop; their crisp airs swirling around her body, giving her the long awaited solace that she had been searching for ever since she had stepped out of the confinements that bound her.

The lone slip of paper flew from her hands, dancing wildly in the air. She watched it being carried up into the sky, fluttering like a butterfly first learning how to fly. The solitary card flew higher and higher until it was no longer seen, absorbed by the sky.

A lone ray of light immersed from the ashen sky, striking itself right before her feet.

The heavens had heeded her cry.

It was a sign.

A sign that judgment day would soon arrive.

* * *

**More Author's Notes**: ;w; I told you I'm not good at this stuff! -jumps off a cliff-

Ahem. As said before, so far, all of this is taken place in the past. As for my OC, I'm not sure how her pesona's going to be. But I can tell you this; she isn't going to be one of those 'super-duper emo freakin' Mary-Sues' because honestly, I've had enough of them. As for the story, I'm going to create some twists and turns along the way. Oh and the thing that she was holding was a tarot card called Judgement. It seemed to fit, so I used it. o3o''

I'd greatly appreciated if you guys would let me know what you think of it so far. So please review; it'd make my day if you did. :3


	2. Chapter 1: Objective

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. **

**Author's Notes:** Blergh. I just finished typing this thing and it's like 3 am. And having typed like a billion freakin' versions, I'm actually somewhat satisfied with this one. :3 There's not much to be said except a little bit of character development; not signs of Mello and OC interaction yet. Chances are I might edit this a bit when I'm awake, but this late night update will have to do for now.

Hope you enjoy, nevertheless.  
:D

* * *

**Chapter One**

_**October 2007**_

Dangerous rays of moonlight glided in and out of the ghost-like clouds hovering like angels of death in the air. Moisture seeped into the atmosphere, the last raindrops pattered to the ground, only to bounce off gently at the touch of the ebony asphalt of the busting city below. The myriad of lights made the city of Las Angeles, California seemed like a Christmas tree decoration, lights and bright neon signs flared as many boisterous voices were to be heard among the last night crowd.

Laughter bounced off the walls of a nearby bar as raindrops clung on the welcome sign, dripping off the last remaining bits of water that had congregated on the wooden panel. The club was a popular one; the pounding of music rang along with the tinkering of glass bottles of alcoholic beverages poured out into the outside world.

Inside the lofty social establishment, two dark azure pools surveyed the nearby surroundings, taking close notice at several individuals' faces, expressions, and actions. The tinted hue of a pair of sunglasses hid all suspicion of wandering eyes. Kanon was seated in one of the booths located in the rear of the club-- a perfect place to eye out anything significant or chary.

She felt out of place. Revelries, dancing, drinking; she detested them all-- yet she stayed put. Her sole purpose was to keep a keen eye out for any unusual movements or familiar voices. Despite the very little amount of information she had left to work off of, two years of research had rewarded her with valuable knowledge.

The internet proved to be a useful tool.

She knew their movements, their style of speech, their voices; the only thing missing were their faces. She scoffed at those four years of work prior to her escape; she had aimlessly followed orders, yet she knew nothing of the men ordering her around. Even her own hacking capabilities only resulted in aliases and cold leads. But now, that very organization in which she held high respects for, she looked down upon in distain; they took lives of families and friends away from her and now, it was payback.

The music vibrated through her eardrums, her ear for tune was impeccable; but this din only wanted her to cover her ears and drown out the noise-- to muffle the laughter and the joy. This wasn't music. This was a lame excuse for music; this loud obnoxious melody that only true purpose served to get many of the inhabitants' adrenaline up and pumping, so they could drink and become drunken zombies.

Yet there was a second reason why people would gather. To those who associated themselves with gangs, they used the music provide distraction; a cover up for exchanges of information, or conversations that were never meant to be leaked out into the outside world. She knew these tricks, no, she not only knew, but she had witnessed this type of behavior and knew about it far too well.

--

Now there were two things she remembered from working in the Mafia; well at the time, she never really knew the name of the group, but as the years changed, new members immerged to serve under the old, and thus the Mafia was born.

The first recollection of her time spent in the organization was when she was first turned to them. Her father, being a man of middle-class stature held a type of respect rarely eared by those in his class-- and obvious target for the greedy. Her mother, on the other hand, had passed away from health complications when she was little.

They were supposed to be bodyguards to him, to serve and protect him and his family. He hired them at first glance; men who wielded weapons and knew how to use them-- men who could kill without notice. The group of men who now called themselves the Mafia. Nevertheless, as the years wore on, her family's social status grew from middle-class to upper-class. With such a change in the social balance came several rather unpleasant side effects as well.

Power and wealth. Two objects desired by every man. Once they have obtained the two, they are blind to the world around them, ultimately leading to their corruption and downfall. Her father was no different.

Surrounded by fame and power, he created a shield around himself, ignoring her and the rest of the world completely. As for the group of sentinels he had hired, her father had been so caught of in the sheer bliss and due to the fact that all the upgrades he had done on his home and office, he assumed that he no longer required that type of protection.

He dismissed the men with a generous paycheck, and gave them custody of his daughter-- despite whether it was legal or not. But nevertheless, paperwork was signed, and she was turned from a daughter to a gang member. A shocking change, but she saw it coming; watching day by day with sadden eye as her father drown in his enraptures.

But why? Kanon had wondered that from the very minute she was relinquished from his hold. But she could only come to one conclusion; wealth and power were all a man ever needed-- a daughter just simply did not fit into the picture.

Her second memory was on the opposite side of the spectrum than the first.

At a young and fragile age of ten, she had already seen the ruthless killings that the organization carried out by themselves. For a young girl, the sight of blood spewing out from bodies could be potentially traumatizing, yet her young mind took it all in without a cry or complaint. She would have cried out-- not understanding why these men were harming the innocent, but she had restrained herself from doing so in fear of the consequences.

Ever since she was little, she had been an exceptionally bright child; she knew when it was acceptable to speak and when not to. Working in the Mafia, she knew that she would automatically be considered the weakest link; she knew if there was someone who needed a punching bag to be punched, she would surely be first on the list of those who would get beaten for another's wrong doing.

Wit was needed to survive, and that's exactly what she did. Four patient years of planning and preparation rested on a single moment. She studied their work of trade; she knew their techniques, their habits, what set them off and what calmed them; she used all of these to her advantage.

And after two years of working underneath them, she was moved into her own separate division; separated from the main gang.

Once upon a time, she knew all of their faces, but upon being secluded away, she soon forgot about them, only to spend day after day researching those who posed threats to their little organization; downloading blueprints of buildings and drawing out walkthroughs. She never liked the idea of breaking into homes and doing god knows what, but she did not protest. These men held her life between their hands; there was no one stopping them from killing her.

Not once was she credited for her work well done; not once was she acknowledged.

And yet, this all played out into her hand. What better way to escape than to be forgotten? But as another two years passed, her once promising plan shattered into pieces at the drop of the hat.

Someone was suspected of stealing and infiltrating drugs to the outside. Each member of the organization were carefully monitored by members; whether secretly or openly, no one was to be forgotten-- not even the girl.

She would not be forgotten. Not by a long shot.

--

As her mind flew from the past to the present, she swirled her glass of water with a straw; every so often, taking a sip out of the glass. Her eyes calmly flickered behind tinted pieces of glass-- sunglasses were never meant to be worn in an already darken room.

She had already spotted several targets, but the question was when to strike. Planning was one thing, but timing was crucial.

So far out of the fifteen members she had done research on, she had successfully eliminated eight. She had her own method of choosing who would be the next on the list, assassinating the weakest then working her way up to the top. However, as she found with every member that was deceased, the protection on those who still remained increased by a tenfold. The mafia seemed to leave the deaths of their bottom eight unheeded; though, if they did care, they certainly did not show it; seeing that those eight were replaced with an unprecedented number of twelve. It, of course bothered her. More obstacles meant a tighter schedule and perfection of how her plans would unfold was no longer an option-- it was required.

But it didn't matter. She adjusted to the circumstances just as anyone would. Kanon had soon resolved that if she only killed the members of lower ranking, they would be much easier replacing than a higher ranked member. And thus, her plan made a whole one-eighty degree turn.

Her target, soon moved from the bottom eight to the top three.

She knew that these were not stupid men. They were cunning and knew to approach things vigilantly; they were a different class than the others-- a challenge that she was all too willing to accept. True, they could manipulate people-- as they did to her in the past; but if what she had predicted was true, she could potentially eliminate half-- if not more-- of the Mafia members all in one night. There was nothing more rewarding than the mere thought of it.

And despite the length of planning, she knew her plans never failed her.

If the information she had assembled together was correct, then the top two members were undoubtedly going to show their faces at the nightclub-- it was their normal meeting spot according to several watchful eyes. The only thing that perplexed her was why the third member of the top three did not show his face as well. There had to be a reason, hidden away from the members themselves. What was the top three hiding?

But as of now, only several of the lower-ranked members had shown their faces-- each, so easy to discern from the crowd that it seemed like a joke. Their actions and obnoxiousness seem to place a huge label upon their heads, telling her and labeling them as targets. Still, the two men she was waiting for have yet to arrived.

A small smile crept slowly upon her lips as her left hand fell to her belt loop; only a few more minutes, she mused, and then, it'd be over. Fingering the cool metal hidden away beneath the folds of her jacket with her left hand, her right was still calmly swirling her straw around in her drink. A 375 millimeter Mateba Auto-revolver was her current weapon; it wasn't the most useful gun in the world, not as flashy as others-- but it would work to get the job done without much problem.

Reclining back in her chair, her grin seemed to spread across her face almost in a maniacal manner; her eyes studying each of her minor targets carefully; her mind, deciding when it would be an objective moment to strike.

Vengeance would be hers.

--

Silvery blue eyes stared back at his own teal ones. The picture seemed to be aged, having crinkles and rips plagued all over it-- the face was almost faded, barely distinguishable, but he could still make out a face. And as much as he found it unbecoming, the young man gritted his teeth finding it quite hard not to burst out in complaint.

_Kanon_. A name carelessly scrawled across the upper right hand corner only made him increasingly riled.

"You want me to kill a _girl_?" he scoffed. Was this a joke? What did they take him as? An idiot? Surely there was some sort of mistake.

"I understand your displeasure, Mello. But this is a job we need to be carried out by a fresh face; the target that we have assigned you have been behind the numerous assassinations of our own members,"

"So you're telling me that the guys that have been dying were killed by a _girl_? What kind of organization is this?" scorn dipped from his voice; of course his intention wasn't really for his words to come off with disdain, but his pride had already been injured once-- and he certainly did not want that to occur once more.

Immediately, he heard several clicking of guns intended in his direction; the others apparently, did not appreciate his rudeness. His insides were livid with annoyance and rage, but he kept his mouth shut. He was a new recruit for the Mafia, and he had a point to prove, but if was some sort of bullshit test to see if he was capable of carrying out a task-- he'd gladly accept it. If he got accepted as one of them, he knew he had the capability to work his way to the top and perhaps use these men shamelessly to catch the man that had humiliated him-- Kira. And then after him, would be Near.

He wouldn't be made into a fool again.

"She'll be dead by midnight."

* * *

**More Author's Notes:** Hm. I suppose this is a slight cliffhanger; the suspense seems to be building, no? But all in all, this chapter was hard to type. I mean, I'm typing to make things seem somewhat natural and not rush things like I've seem other fics do. I ended up with so many versions that I ended up hating them all and re-writing the whole middle portion. TwT'' Hopefully I'm doing a decent job of keeping Mello in character (despite the fact that he's been used rarely thus far xD). The next chapter you'll probably see minor interactions between Kanon and Mello; but very minor.

Reviews would be much loved. :)  
I really don't want to make it come down to a certain number of review new chapter. So please don't make me instate that. x.x''

**_Shout-outs: _**I'd like to give kudos to _RedEyedRiver_ for being my first reviewer thus far! 8D You gave me inspiration for finishing this. I'm glad to know that someone actually read this and review. x3 Thanks again for giving me yout lovely piece of feedback; it means a lot. :)


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